


Becoming Geta

by TiedyedTrickster



Series: Geta!verse [3]
Category: DBZ - Fandom, Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Gen, Geta quit being cute, SCANDELOUS!, and not a single answer, but let's not tell him yet okay?, let's let it be a surprise, not for Geta anyways, origin story time, so many questions, wait a mentor-figure who isn't a pervert or a god?, we all know of course
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 06:04:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4776377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiedyedTrickster/pseuds/TiedyedTrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geta is not Vegeta, a fact that's probably pretty obvious by this point. But why isn't he? It's time to find out!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Becoming Geta

**Author's Note:**

> Set thirteen years before Bulma and the Monkey Prince.

The first things he noticed when he woke up were that he was stiff and his head ached and his tail had a crick in it. The next thing he noticed was that he had a tail. The third was that he couldn’t remember if that was normal or not.

That last bit was worrying, but nowhere near as bad as the realization that he didn’t know who he was, or where he was either. He appeared to be in a very small room of some sort, roundish and metal with a circular window in front of him, set in what was probably a door. A few minutes and several pressed buttons later, the door opened and he climbed out. The air tasted better out here, he hadn’t realised how hazy it was getting inside. He was in the center of a crater, him and his… round… egg-thing. Was it an egg? Had he just hatched? Was that normal? He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t think so. Anyway, there was a jungle surrounding the crater and blue sky above that. For a moment, this confused him. Weren’t skies supposed to be red? Then he shook his head. He didn’t know and there was no one around to ask, so no use worrying about it right now. There were more important things to worry about – like his stomach, which was telling him that it was very empty at the moment and did not appreciate this state of affairs.

He frowned, looking around. What was safe to eat around here? There were lots of tasty scents flooding the area, but he didn’t know what went to what, or whether ‘smelled good’ meant ‘is good.’ That could be a problem. And he wasn’t sure if he should leave his egg… pod… sphere-thing. What if he’d been in it because someone had put him there? What if they came to get him and he wasn’t there?

His stomach rumbled.

What if they came to get him and he’d starved to death? His tail lashed behind him in frustration. Maybe they’d left a note or something. A quick pat down revealed that his clothes didn’t have any pockets, but he was wearing what was probably a nametag or something on a chain around his neck. It was round, and one side had somehow been melted smooth and engraved with the same sigil that adorned the left breast of his armor (and why was he wearing armor? Was he breakable? Was it dangerous here?). The other side simply said ‘Vegeta.’ Since he had no idea what a Vegeta was, he was going to assume it was him. Whoever had left him here could tell him if he was wrong later.

That decided, he felt a bit better – having a name was comforting – but it still left him with the dilemma of whether to go look for food or wait for whoever left him here and hope they brought some with them. He was still considering this when an enormous lizard-thing stomped into his clearing and made it apparent that it thought Vegeta would be a tasty snack. That solved his problem quite nicely. It also answered the question of whether he was wearing armor because he was fragile.

He wasn’t.

And he seemed to know how to fight, plus it had felt satisfying to bring the lizard-thing down. He’d have to look for more things to fight later, it was fun! Now, though, he felt sleepy and comfortably full of lizard-thing. Apparently discovering you exist was a tiring process. So he wriggled out of his armor (it was pretty warm here, and he suspected the shoulder guards would get annoying), pulled the red cape off the back of it, and, having nowhere better to go, curled up under the red fabric on the padded chair in his egg-sphere-thing and went to sleep.

 

**OoOoOoO**

 

It was a week before he went farther than a few dozen yards from his egg-sphere, in which he’d made a nest of big, leafy foliage to make it more comfortable to sleep there. After that length of time, though, the lizard-things had started avoiding his crater, and he’d eaten all the fruit in the surrounding area. If he wanted to keep eating, he’d have to go further afield.

There was a stream nearby where he got water, so he followed that a ways. He found out he could swim after losing his footing on some mossy rocks too near the bank, which was useful for catching fish, and, in a small, round pool in a shallow area, he got his first look at his own face. He’d known his hair was at least partially black from the bangs that hung in his face, and that the rest of it stuck up, but now he saw the rest of it was black as well, and it made a flame sort of shape, which was cool. His eyes were black, too, under heavy brows, and the rest of his face was roundish and very young looking. For the first time since he’d woken up, he wondered how old he was. It was hard to tell.

Several weeks passed. Vegeta learned the area around his ‘nest’ for several miles in every direction. He found out he could run really fast and punch through trees and his tail was really strong but also sensitive, so it was better to wrap it around his waist when he was hunting. His hair stood up straight most of the time, but flopped down his back when it got wet, slowly rising back up as it dried out. He learned the sky did go red sometimes, when the sun rose or set, and he could see very well in the dark, and it was more comfortable to leave his armor and gloves in his nest when he went out into the jungle.

Besides, that way if someone came to get him, they’d probably see the discarded clothes and guess he would come back for them, and wait for him until he did. Vegeta had tried writing messages in the dirt with his finger, but those tended to get blown away or rained on, so they didn’t work well. Leaving the armor was better.

He kept his nametag with him though.

 

**OoOoOoOoO**

 

About six weeks after the meteor had crashed in the forest, a strange boy wandered into the village.

The village was a small but rambling place, and so out of the way that it didn’t even have a proper name. People just called it ‘the village’ and left it at that. It had a market and a small library, a schoolhouse and a dojo, and not much else beyond a bunch of houses where various people lived. The dojo was one of the big draws of industry, actually – that and its excellent market.

Master Moo-shun wasn’t as famous as the Turtle or Crane Sen’nins, but he was an excellent teacher, willing to take on any student who was equally willing to learn, and he was a master in the art of sensing ki, and knew even a little of how to manipulate it.

So he was there to greet the boy when he walked into the village, his clothes dusty and his expression curious. Honestly, Moo-shun was rather curious himself, not to mention quite surprised that the boy was so young and small, for he had sensed the boy moving about the jungle for some time now, and felt the vast power he possessed, a power that had flared huge one night only to vanish in the morning, and which had yet to return. Yet the boy couldn’t have been more than six!

So he bowed formally as the boy approached. Some beings were known to be able to change their forms, so it was possible this boy was more than he seemed. And, in any case, it never hurt to be polite.

“Greetings, honoured stranger. I am Master Moo-shun – welcome to the village.”

“Hi!” the boy jumped a bit, as though the sound of his own voice had surprised him. He tilted his head curiously to one side, examining the old man. “My name’s Vegeta. Did you know that? Is that why you were waiting for me? Do you know who left me in the jungle? Was it you?”

Moo-shun blinked, then chuckled. “My, you certainly have a lot of questions!”

The boy – Vegeta – shrugged. “I don’t know very much yet, and you’re the first person I’ve met.”

“In this village?”

“Ever.” Putting his arms behind his head, he stared up at the old man. “What are we, anyway? I’ve been wondering.”

Moo-shun gave the boy a considering look. “I can see we’re going to have a lot to talk about, Vegeta.”

“Okay. What are we? And was it you who left me in the jungle?”

“We are human. And no, I did not.”

Moo-shun led Vegeta into the village, taking a twisting, circuitous path towards his dojo, and learned that the boy had no memory of his life before he had woken up in his ‘nest’ – an odd, hollow metal sphere – in the jungle over a month ago.

“A bit like Sun Wukong,” Moo-shun murmured to himself when Vegeta said this.

“Who’s that?” the boy asked, interested.

“Ah, I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know. He is the Monkey King, a small golden monkey who was born from a stone and went on to do great things.”

Vegeta considered this, then offered his response. “I’m not golden – I’m black and pinkish-brown. I do have a tail, though!” he looked over his shoulder at where the furry brown limb was waving happily back and forth.

“Indeed, it is a fine tail,” Moo-shun nodded gravely. He had been surprised at the furry appendage – surprised, but not shocked. The martial arts master was old, and he had travelled the world before choosing this village for his home. During his travels he had seen many strange people, some with three eyes or fish tails instead of legs, and the Four Generals of the Animal Kingdom, the least strange of whom was the horned Ox King, whose territory extended just far enough to include the village in its protection. A small boy with a tail and gravity-defying hair was nothing compared to an octopus in a three-piece suit!

Speaking of whom, he should really write Takayaka sometime soon, it had been too long…

“Did Son Wugong get into any fights?” Vegeta asked, interrupting Moo-shun’s thoughts.

“‘Sun Wukong,’ and yes, many – he was one of the finest martial artists in the world, and always getting into trouble of one sort or another.”

Vegeta’s eyes sparkled. “Tell me about him!”

So the old master told the young boy about the Monkey King as they walked a winding route through the village, one that avoided the more public areas. If Moo-shun truly was the first other human the boy had seen, it might be best to introduce him to other people slowly. Moo-shun’s dojo was empty at the moment, his students not due to arrive for evening classes for a few hours yet, and he had taught no one his special ki-sensing technique for several years – though he was planning to begin this lot on it relatively soon – but for now, no one would sense and wonder at the boy’s extraordinary ki. Moo-shun led Vegeta into the dojo, made the boy comfortable on a pile of unused mats, and began to speak.

Thus, that evening, Master Moo-shun’s students arrived to see their teacher telling stories to a small boy in a tight blue shirt and pants, staring attentively at the old man and not moving a muscle except for the tip of his tail, which twitched. He moved fast enough when he saw the first students entering, though, darting behind their teacher and peeking out shyly before hiding again.

“Students, this is Vegeta,” Master Moo-shun gently encouraged the boy forward again. “He is new and, as you can see, very young. He has come to watch you practice this evening.”

And that was more-or-less what happened. Vegeta sat by the doorway and watched the students go through their forms, practice kicks and blows and punches, then vanished back into the nearby jungle without a word as the sun set.

Several days later, after another odd power flare in the jungle, he returned with more questions, and to watch practice again. Within a few weeks, he was coming to practice every few days, and the class had adopted ‘Geta’ as their unofficial mascot.

This roll changed several weeks later when Moo-shun began to teach Naana, his most advanced student, a new kata. Geta came and sat next to Naana, and together they watched the master demonstrate the full form. When he had finished, Geta tilted his head to the side and said, “I think you did it wrong.”

“What?”

This statement surprised Master Moo-shun, but it shocked Naana. “Geta, apologise! Moo-shun is a grandmaster of the art, and you don’t even have a white-” she halted as her teacher raised his hand for silence.

“We mustn’t make assumptions, Naana. Geta, how would you do form twenty-six?” he gestured to the mat. “Don’t be shy, come show me.”

For the first time since he had started watching the classes, Geta removed his boots and hesitantly stepped onto the mat, looking very small and unsure of himself. He swallowed nervously and looked up at the old man with a scared expression, tail wrapped around one leg, eyes flickering to the rest of the class, who had halted to watch him.

“Don’t be shy,” Moo-shun repeated gently, “Close your eyes, find your center, and begin when you are ready.”

Nodding shakily, Geta walked to the center of the mat and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply, the tension slowly relaxed from his shoulders, and his tail returned to its customary position behind him. The a faint frown appeared between his brows. “I- I can’t remember-”

“Vegeta, form twenty-six!” Moo-shun commanded in his strictest instructor tone, hoping to cut through the fear to the muscle memories he suspected the boy carried.

The response was immediate and dramatic. Geta’s entire body language changed. His tail whipped around his waist and his eyes snapped open, his expression cold and focussed as he launched himself into his form.

It was not a style Moo-shun was familiar with, and he had seen many. It was efficient, complex, and rife with blows meant to kill rather than subdue or disable. The small warrior ended with his feet braced, one hand held palm-out before him, with a mighty kiyup. He held it for a moment, frozen. Then someone coughed and the tiny warrior vanished, leaving Geta blinking and grinning, staring at his hands.

“I… didn’t know I could do that.”

“No shit!” one student exclaimed, tone angry, and suddenly Geta’s expression was full of fear, and he was gone before Moo-shun could say a word, not even halting to grab his boots.

“Paadwoon! On the mat this instant!”

It was one of the few times Moo-shun’s students had ever seen him truly angry – the first time for some of them. Paadwoon stepped onto the mat, fearful and defiant. “You saw that form, master!” he began before Moo-shun could, “More than half those blows were kill strikes! And the kata itself – that was over black belt level! No way a little kid could know it! He’s not human, master, and he’s not safe!”

“You think to tell me what is and is not safe, student?” Moo-shun responded coldly, “I, who had mastered the subtle art of reading ki long before you were ever born? I, who have conversed with the Four Generals of the Animal Kingdom, and seen the immortal phoenix reborn*?!?”

“But what do you know of him, master?” Paadwoon pleaded, “What do any of us know of him other than that he showed up a few months ago with a million questions? Where does he even go when he’s not here?”

“I know his ki is pure and his heart is innocent,” the old master countered, “I know that, as far as he knows, he was only _born_ several months ago. I know he sleeps where he first woke, in the hope that whoever left him there will come back and tell him who he is. And I know that that small boy walked into this village with enough power to destroy it a thousand times over, and instead he chooses to ask questions and watch you shirk your kata when you think I’m not looking!”

There was silence for a moment. Then-

“He lives alone?” one student asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“But who protects him? Takes care of him?”

“From what I understand, he does both himself, and he has very little interest in outside help.” Moo-shun responded, rage receding some. “He will not show me where his ‘nest,’ as he calls it, is, and I doubt trying to find it would be a good idea.” Walking to the doorway, he looked out at the rising moon and sighed. “We live in a strange world, my students, full of wonder and mystery. One small mystery has found his way to our village, one who is even more of a mystery to himself than he is to us. Be careful what you do with this opportunity – for who knows how far the ripples of your actions might spread?”

 

**OoOoOoOoO**

 

When he returned to his house by the sea that night, Master Moo-shun found a small form waiting for him, huddled under a palm tree, holding a large leaf over his head to block his view of the moon.

“Vegeta?” the martial arts teacher asked, surprised, “What are you doing here?”

The little shadow sniffed and wiped his nose. “I followed your scent here. The trail was pretty clear – you must use the same path a lot. I- I wasn’t going to stay long, b-but the moon came up, and it’s a full moon tonight.”

“And that’s a problem?” Moo-shun asked gently.

Geta nodded miserably. “I guess you need your tail for it to happen, though – you’re looking at the moon, and you seem fine.”

Moo-shun decided not to bring up the fact that he’d actually _never_ had a tail at this moment – whether other humans had tails or not had become something of an ongoing debate at the dojo ever since Geta showed up, one that the boy refused to be swayed on. “How about we go inside, out of the moonlight, and talk there?”

Sniffling again, the boy nodded, and buried his face in Moo-shun’s shoulder as the tall man gathered the boy in his arms, tail unfurling from around his waist to wrap around the old man’s arm. Gently, Moo-shun carried the boy inside, turned on the light with an elbow, and went into his meditation room, where there were not windows. Sitting down on a mat, he rubbed soothing circles on the boy’s back. “Now, what’s the matter, Geta?”

“ ‘mIamnstr?”

“Pardon?”

Sitting up in the old man’s arms, Geta stared at him, eyes red from crying. “Am I a monster?”

“Of course not, what makes you think that?”

 “I heard them, back at the dojo, about my kata. And I saw the way they looked at me afterwards, like I was gonna eat them.” Geta’s gaze fell to the floor. “What if I did stuff like that before? What if I used to kill people and can’t remember?”

Moo-shun thought for a moment. “Well, I suppose you’d have to make sure not to start doing it again.”

“Master Moo-shun!” Geta glared at him, “I’m serious!”

“So am I. Listen to me, Geta,” Moo-shun settled the boy in his lap, “Martial arts are what they say on the tin – the arts of war. The higher you get in the katas of _any_ style, the more dangerous the moves become for your imagined foe. Who or whatever you may have been before you woke up, you are obviously a skilled martial artist, and your body remembers even if your mind does not. It is your choice whether you wish to continue this path or not, and your choice how you walk it.”

The boy leaned against his chest and thought. “I like fighting,” he said finally, “It felt good, after I’d done the kata – right. But I don’t want to be a monster.”

“You don’t have to be. After all, I am a grandmaster, and I’m not a monster, am I?”

“No…” Geta stared up at him, “You look more like a walnut with white hair.”

Moo-shun laughed a bit. “Perhaps I do.”

“…I want to fight…”

“Right then,” Moo-shun nodded, “How about this: I’ll let you sleep here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll see if we can’t find out what your body remembers that your head doesn’t.”

He got a spare futon and some blankets out for the boy and tucked him in before shutting the door, putting a rolled up towel at the bottom, ‘to keep out the moonlight.’

 

**OoOoOoOoO**

 

It turned out that Geta knew thirty-one katas, which swiftly escalated in difficulty and were best brought out by a sharp, brief command, though he could run through them again easily enough once he’d done them. Then they talked about the various purposes of martial arts for a time.

Geta disappeared back into the jungle for several days after that to think about things. Then he appeared at the dojo again, expression determined.

“I wanna fight,” he announced, “But I don’t want to kill – except dinosaurs and stuff ‘cause they taste good. Can I do that here? While I’m waiting to be found?”

And that was how Geta came to the village and joined the dojo. No one was particularly surprised when he turned out to be a natural at ki sensing and manipulation, though the day he flew in through the door shouting that he’d fallen off the waterfall and look what _he_ could do had shocked everyone. Craka had managed to figure out how on earth he was doing it, and even mimic it herself, but she was unable to fly as freely as he did.

Weeks turned to months to years, and Geta grew up, a little wild and rough, but friendly and full of good humour. He discovered cargo shorts, gave up shirts and shoes, and began to sell coconuts when people learned he had a knack for finding the best ones, then dinosaur meat when he learned there was a market for it. He learned the writing system used on his nametag was different than the one everyone else used and learned that, and got tan from spending so much time in the sun. He read the library and made up stories about where he’d come from when having no past got too lonely. Just when people were starting to think he’d never grow, he vanished for five months and came back two feet taller and finally looking like the teenager he was. His ki levels grew by leaps and bounds, and the dojo got a reputation when he became the official champion there. The village grew a bit, and the extraordinary became normal.

But nothing stays normal forever, and one day a blue-haired young woman drove into town on the second major quest of her life and, like a swift kick to an anthill, suddenly things were happening again.

**Author's Note:**

> *This was before the incident with Roshi and the bad bird seed.
> 
>  
> 
> The way scenes involving Geta get written:  
> Me: Geta, be adorable.  
> Geta: ‘kay.  
> Scene: *happens*
> 
> Geta arrived on Earth at about age six, with his canonical power level for that age of about 2000.
> 
> I try and keep things fairly realistic in these fics – or realistic within the bounds of this universe – but there is one thing I am out and out ignoring realism for in this series and it is this: Vegeta had yet to ever purge a planet before he woke up with all his memories gone. The only things he had ever killed that were even close to sentient were saibamen. He was on his first purging mission whatever caused his pod to come to Earth happened (and as to how exactly his memories were lost and his pod landed here, well, that’ll be explained farther down the line). I do have some logic for this – I’m saying that kids with a decent power level at birth, like Vegeta, were kept on-planet and trained for several years before being sent purging, as they were viewed as more valuable than kids with low power levels. 
> 
> But the main reason for this is that Geta is an innocent in this, and I refuse to ever put him in a position where he can ask someone who would know ‘did I ever kill anyone’ and have them answer ‘yes.’ It just feels too cruel to me.
> 
> As for Geta’s behaviour in the fic… he is indeed six at this point. He’s saiyan, which means he’s much more mentally developed than a human six-year-old, but he’s still only six, and he’s got amnesia – this felt like an accurate portrayal to me, considering Goku’s behaviour in the series. I did my best to stick to what a person with amnesia really would remember (as far as I know) – basic things like language and such, but not necessarily their own abilities until they’re reminded of them for whatever reason (like, say, learning you can already swim by falling in water).
> 
> Speaking of which, Geta’s katas aren’t true memories, they’re muscle-memories, which are a little different. That little tickle that the kata seemed familiar but wrong is the closest Geta’s ever going to get to his memories of his life as Vegeta, prince of all saiyans. On a side note, form twenty-six of the saiyan style is meant to end with a large ki blast – fortunately Geta didn’t know about ki at that point, or else Moo-shun would likely have been out a wall and several students.
> 
> Master Moo-shun was originally created by my sister, a tall old martial arts instructor with truly extraordinary eyebrows, fluffy white hair, and a face like a walnut. And that was all. Then Geta needed someone to tell him the ways of the world, so I grabbed Moo-shun. He appears in this and all other fics with my sister’s approval and blessing. For those wondering, he’s nowhere near Master Roshi or the Crane Sen’nin in terms of power or skill, but he’s a good teacher, and he’s got a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. Like sensing ki – a darned useful tool in any Z warrior’s skill set. ;)


End file.
